The Art of Spelling
by 0-mirage-0
Summary: "…Mustang exited his office with Ed still inside, shut the door behind him, and strangled the doorknob with both hands like he wanted to wring Ed's neck…" An afternoon from the comedic perspective of Mustang's crew when Ed comes in to report.


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The Art of Spelling

\- mirage -

"I am so embarrassed," Havoc confessed, reaching into his uniform jacket. Seated at his work desk, he leaned forward discreetly, and Hawkeye felt the need to lean away. Havoc wasn't reaching into his break pockets like a normal person, he was making this something odd.

"You put them in your shirt?" Hawkeye asked. For the moment Roy's office door was closed, and the only other person working through the early lunch period was Falman. He sat at the far end of their collaborative workspace, pen poised above his work, staring at them. Hawkeye responded to this with a shrug. "I didn't tell him to do it like this, Falman."

"I didn't want anyone to see," Havoc said, pulling the first carnation from his uniform. "I felt like such a boob carrying them in the hall." The bouquet's remaining eleven flowers came next. "The guys kept asking me who the flowers were for, and making all these ass-ramming remarks."

Hawkeye sighed. _That was senseless, but to be expected._

"You know, I'm just trying to do something nice for the girl, I seriously like her." Havoc loaded Hawkeye's outstretched hand with limp carnations.

"I think it's sweet," Hawkeye said, adding an encouraging smile. "She'll like them pressed, Havoc." She looked to Falman, and included him with a quick, "Won't she."

"Oh yeah," Falman said, sounding clueless. "All women like pressed flowers."

Had this been years ago, Havoc might have blushed, but in the service, and under Mustang, he managed only a weak unenthused expression. The facts were the facts, and if she didn't like them, he'd be the only fool with a bouquet of the wildflowers she'd whimsically mentioned from her home town. _A forty minute drive away._

"Stop fretting," Hawkeye said, leaving the side of Havoc's desk and crossing the room. She went to the file cabinet's collection of large books and looked for a good one. "All we have to do is put them inside a fat heavy book and leave them for a week." She took the thick dictionary back to her desk, and Havoc watched her sandwich individual flowers between the pages before closing the book. "See?"

With so many the book jacket popped like accordion. Havoc set his palm on top and tried to crush it closed.

"It supposed to stick up like that?"

Falman tucked his pen behind his ear, no longer working. "Put something heavy on it," he suggested.

"I guess I could stack a few books on it," Hawkeye said.

"Stack a few books on it." Falman pointed to the file cabinet.

"No, wait," Havoc said, leaning his weight into his palm as if the book were a suitcase that wouldn't close. "I'll just crush it for a minute."

"Take it back to your desk and sit on it," Hawkeye suggested. Havoc gave her an odd look. "What?" She chuckled. "It will work."

Havoc placed the book in his chair and plopped down on top. Then they worked. The only interruption to the office's silence, Havoc's occasional, and awkward, shifting. Jogging his weight impatiently from either side, the melody of crinkling pages was growing loud, until Hawkeye said, "Stop." She didn't look up, and she didn't stop working.

"I can't do this." Havoc twisted uncomfortably.

Hawkeye's pen continued writing. "We're supposed to be working."

"I can't sit on it."

"Come on, Havoc," Falman said, beginning a teasing laugh. "It won't be the first time you sat on something hard."

"Ha. Ha." Havoc slid the book free. He offered it to Hawkeye, and she narrowed her gaze with playful insult.

"I hope you know the extent of my kindness was showing you how to press those wild flowers."

"Please?" Havoc asked, comfortably lolling his head to the side, a goofy smile ear-to-goofily-big-ear. "Last week I saved you, and I asked for nothing in return."

In the right place at the right time last week, he has passed her entering Mustang's office while she was exiting. He had passed her during the lunch hour, and when she'd come face to face with the bubbly red head from Inventory who had been waiting in the hall, and was certain to ask her to lunch while she had no polite way to excuse herself, Havoc had said, _Colonel called a last minute meeting, mandatory Lieutenant._

"You know I'm right." Havoc was smiling because it was true. "I saved you from the Cat-Freak." And they didn't give her that name, but relentless bore-you-to-snores cat stories every lunch with any unsuspecting hostage would give you that reputation in an office.

Hawkeye took the book with a deep submitting sigh. She stood, placed the book in her chair, and sat down. Then she cleared her throat, and resumed her work. With her pen scrolling and her attention focused, there was no hint the dictionary was nestled beneath her, but Havoc wasn't satisfied. He sat staring at her, waiting for something to happen, until the sight grew boring.

Hawkeye kept on working. For nearly an hour she sat on the book. Closer to noon the receptionist at the front of the hall popped in asking for lunch orders. A group order was going to the local deli, so they all ordered. Twenty minutes later they could hear the Elrics approaching, and Havoc began chuckling down to his work with giddy anticipation.

"Stop it," Hawkeye whispered, without lifting her gaze. It was the end of the quarter, and at the end of the quarter the office was busy, and Mustang was consumed. Crammed into an already tight schedule was monthly reporting, and this often brought Ed in from whatever case he was on. The combination of a deadline-struggling Colonel, and a lazy-reporting Edward was a source of office entertainment. Even though the result was often bad for everyone, with Mustang becoming irritated, Ed becoming irritated, and the entire place disrupted, Havoc, was snickering down to his work, and Falman was grinning in his chair.

Ed opened the door to the office with a cheerful, "Hello all." They gave him casual greetings, and brief waves. They never entirely stopped working, and Ed never stopped walking. He went right to Mustang's office and the armor separated and left.

Havoc could only contain himself for one minute. Sixty seconds after Ed disappeared into Mustang's office, he gave an excited giggle and hunched down over his work in agog. "I wager my lunch pickle," he said, turning to Falman with an eager grin plastered to his face, "the entire pickle, they only make it ten, maybe fifteen minutes."

Havoc pointed to the office clock. It hung on the back wall with its white sterile face and large black hands reigning over them.

Falman dropped his head into his hands, and rubbing at it, gave a brief laugh. "Pickle and chips."

"My chips?" Havoc hesitated with uncertainty.

"Pickle and chips," Falman said firmly. "You're always impatient. They'll last at least twenty minutes, but not much more, maybe twenty five. I'll go in, half a sandwich."

Havoc laughed the boastful educated laugh of one getting a sweet deal. "You're on." He turned to Hawkeye. She had stopped working in order to look up and give them both a stoic, but pointed, stare. "We're not betting with you, Hawkeye," Havoc said, voice growing serious. His playful tone evaporated into crisp professionalism. "Don't say a thing." The misconception was that she disapproved, but the reality was: she was too good at the game. They wouldn't take her bets anymore because she creamed them. She was able to guess how long it would take, and fairly accurately, what exactly would happen.

"I'll wager my entire lunch," she said.

"No!" Havoc shouted, lifting an open palm toward Falman to stop the man from doing something foolish. "Falman, don't take the bait!" Havoc propped his elbow on his desk and pointed at her. "Hawkeye, you're a cheat." It was impossible to cheat, but Havoc often used the coined phrase, 'liars and cheats,' to describe things and people. "Okay?" he said, pointing at her blank expression. "We're not taking the bait."

"Havoc," Falman whispered, leaning over his work and gesturing at Hawkeye with an open palm. "I'll split her sandwich with you fifty-fifty, don't be a fool."

"I'll weigh in under both of you, ten minutes," Hawkeye suggested.

From Mustang's office came a sudden burst of yelling. It was Mustang's voice, but it was also Ed's voice, speaking loudly at the same time, as if trying to run each other over with their words. Then Mustang's voice was traveling, and they knew he had stood from his desk. In response, Ed's volume increased to combat Mustang as a moving target.

Havoc rubbed his hands together as if preparing to dine over a great feast. "Get ready to give me half your sandwich, Falman." He pointed to the clock. "What did you get?"

"Ham and cheese."

"Ham and cheese, for me." Havoc was gloating. "This isn't going to last twenty minutes, this quarter's been hell." There were two rules to their game, you couldn't directly sabotage your betting partners, but you could help manipulate activity into reaching your desired length of time.

"I'm offering the entire meal," Hawkeye said again, voice rushed and eager for one of them to wager. She was listening carefully to the shouting. "Less than seven minutes, that's my final bet."

"Forget it," Havoc snapped, pointing toward Mustang's door. "Remember, if either of them come out of that office, goad them on, but don't get them suspicious."

Falman licked his lips nodding, and Hawkeye added, "Tomorrow's lunch too."

"Oh, Havoc!" Falman whispered, gesturing to Hawkeye with both arms. "She's just giving it away!"

"It's a trap!" Havoc leaned his upper half so far forward his forearm bumped Hawkeye's stack of reports and shoved them an inch into her work. He locked her cool expression in a knowing gaze, and said, "I'm on to you, Lieutenant. You may think you'll swindle us with your preposterous, less than seven minute bet, but you're not getting me this time. Last time, was the last time."

"And what makes you think things will last to fifteen, if I'm saying seven?"

The level of yelling in Mustang's office increased. Ed was notorious for belting statistics, and although it was hard to understand what he was arguing, they could hear letters clear enough. Surrounding that came the random launching of miscellaneous words, and what sounded like common bickering. At one point, they tore their eyes away from the clock and confirmed in a group glance they were fairly certain they heard Mustang yell, _'There is no e on the end!'_

Then there was stomping. Mustang exited his office with Ed still inside, shut the door behind him, and strangled the doorknob with both hands like he wanted to wring Ed's neck. "That little punk, that little punk!" Mustang whispered, speaking to himself under his breath. He looked over, and they were sitting obediently at their work stations staring back. "I swear he's trying to stick it to me. Purposely trying to stick it to me, and here I am sitting on my hands under this bureaucratic bullshit, trying to play a five-year-old's games!" Mustang grabbed at his forehead before tossing his hand forward to indicate the insanity of it all.

The sight of their distinguished, and usually composed Colonel, was testing. Hawkeye was their senior on the team, and appropriately she kept a stoic speechless self. Havoc was equally as strong, and let nothing slip while staring at Mustang, but Falman was their weak link. He threw in the towel and dropped his head forward so it hung from his head like a drunk, choking quick laughs.

"Sir," Hawkeye said, after a short pause. "I'm sure Edward is not trying to stick it to you."

Mustang did not look convinced, and his eyebrows shot up with angry contradiction.

"What do you mean stick it to you, sir?" Havoc asked. "Like, sticking-it-to-the-man? You call yourself the-man now, Colonel?" Havoc was teasing.

"He can't spell!" Mustang declared, voice painfully tight, as if this were killing him.

Falman dropped his head to the desk, and pressing his face into the fine mahogany, strangled out another laugh.

"He can't spell?" Havoc repeated, skeptically. "Ed?"

"Moronically he appears to be…sounding things out and writing them down the way his little backward brain guesses they might go!" Mustang was fuming. "It's infuriating! Looking at his reports is an assault on my vision!"

Falman couldn't handle that one. He buried his head with his right arm, and his laughter sounded like an asthma attack.

Mustang went storming for the back file cabinets and began digging through their office books. "You would not believe the list—the laundry list, of offenses!" Mustang cried, rifling through their resources.

The impetuous sight of this was stunning. Hawkeye found herself staring, expression unflinching, and laughter reputably sealed in her throat.

"He's spelling C words with Ks, and duplicating letters with longer sounds!" Mustang said. "He actually spelled conclusion, k-u-n-k-l-o-o-sion!"

Havoc gave an elaborate mouth widening silent laugh, and then pulled himself together by pursing his lips and managing a shaky frown that suggested he might sneeze. "He spelled reigning, like the weather! I said, there are two different words, and the one you are looking for is spelled r-e-i-g-n, and he defiantly contradicts me! I didn't design the language myself, it's a national fact that's how it's spelled!" Frustrated Mustang stopped digging and turned to them with an exasperated breath. "Is it too much to ask that our office own a dictionary!"

Hawkeye felt her eyes widen.

Falman released another burse of asthmatic wheezing, and slumped lower in his chair.

"I'm sure we own one," Hawkeye said. She gave Havoc a quick eye flare. "Try toward the back cabinet, sir. I'm certain I saw one." Mustang went to the back cabinet and Hawkeye bolted up, pulled the dictionary off her chair, and shoved it onto Havoc's desk. It was a wrecking ball, crushing papers and tipping his pen cup.

"Oh, here it is!" Havoc called loudly. "Sir, I have one right here!" Havoc lifted the book like the morning edition, and Mustang abandoned the file cabinets, and snatched it.

"Now we'll see who has the last laugh," Mustang said, sounding reassured. He turned the book over and flipped a few pages. "I politely tried to educate him, and said, your spelling is so amateur I thought an infant wrote your report, Fullmetal." Falman was in the midst of a heart attack, and shaking with silent laughter. "He says, oh, well perhaps your mind and eyesight are going with old age, the cheeky shit." Havoc's stoic expression was beginning to buckle. "But there is absolutely no disputing the fact that presiding over something, and water falling from the sky, are spelled with two separate, but same sounding words, as I said." Mustang pointed into the dictionary smiling and broke a chest deflating sigh. He had found proof. "I'm not going to file reports into this office that are rampant with elementary spelling and grammar mistakes." Mustang looked to them for opinion.

"Absolutely not," Havoc said, keeping a firm and serious tone. "That's a discredit to us all." Hawkeye didn't think she could manage a word, and kept silent. "In fact, Falman takes spelling and grammar very seriously." Havoc indicated Falman's disposed self with a quick hook of his thumb. "You're right as always, sir."

Mustang looked ready to agree, but there was something odd he was sensing. What exactly, he couldn't put his finger on. His subordinates were all at their desks, working diligently, and remaining attentive, but… Mustang narrowed his gaze with skeptical confusion. He glanced between them for only a second, and then moved on. Things were busy at the end of the quarter, and he returned to his office, and slammed the door behind him.

Immediately Falman's silent gasping laughs gained true voice, and he sat up holding his eyes, and barking a baritone manly cackling.

Hawkeye and Havoc exchanged quick serious looks. Today's bit of fun had spiked wildly, and Havoc muttered a quick, "Oh my god," under his breath while beginning to sputter quiet coughing laughs. Hawkeye's practiced expression of diligence cracked, and the left side of her mouth began twitching before Mustang's office door flew open.

They again went straight faced, immediately composed.

Ed exited looking furious and carrying the dictionary. He slammed the door, and opened the book, muttering to himself, "Stupid…ass….thinks I can't spell…stupid….that stupid ass." Ed was flipping through the book quickly, seeking a word the same way Mustang had, before stopping when a drooping carnation leaned its head from the side of the book, and flopped out onto the floor.

It landed silently alongside Ed's boot, and Ed lifted the book, and looked down with confusion, before muttering a soft, "What?" Curiously, he lowered the book and gave it a jostling shake. A stem and two other wilting flower heads poked free. "What the hell is this!" Ed asked, flabbergasted. "This book is full of flow…" and there he silenced, staring into the pages with a dawning realization that sent him fuming. "He thinks this is funny!" Ed snarled, whirling around and stomping back to Mustang's door. "To give me flowers!" Ed twisted the knob and tossed the door in. "This is sick!" he yelled.

Mustang looked up from his desk with absolute shock when Ed returned violently shaking a Dictionary as if to murder it. From the pages flowers went flying left and right before Ed threw the book into the heap of them, and slammed the door behind him.

Without a single departure Ed stormed his way from the office and left.

From inside Mustang's office the sound of the man scrambling up and stalking across the room could be heard. Mustang's footfalls were heavy with anger, before he swiped the book off the floor, and ripped open his office door.

Again his subordinates were sitting studious and quiet.

Mustang looked to his staff, and angrily explained, "I ordered him to study vocabulary, and he returns and throws flowers at me!" He corrected the dictionary and stomped to the file cabinets to slam it down on top. "At the floor of my office!"

Havoc looked at the bold white face of the office clock, and only six minutes had passed. _He'd lost._ Discretely he chanced a glance to Hawkeye, but she caught him. Her expression blank, her gaze smiling, for this time, just like all the other times, she had been right.

"There is something wrong with Fullmetal," Mustang said, returning to his office in a quick walk. He grabbed the door handle to close the door behind him, and called back, "Seriously, wrong with him!" before it slammed.

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 _Happy 4th of July!  
_ Hope your enjoyed. Reviews appreciated.

 _To those of you more familiar with me as a writer, I've been on hiatus, but now I'm back! Details included in my profile, with my next posting to be FMA One-shot: "Say What," on 09/05/16, with the launch of my FMA Multi-Chapter story: "Board of Squares," 11/21/16. It's great to be back_ _J_


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